The Westfield 15
by Gray Glube
Summary: They're more than names on a plaque, faces in a yearbook, dates on stone slabs
1. Chapter 1

**Author: **grayglube

**Title: **The Westfield 15

**Summary: **They're more than names on a plaque, faces in a yearbook, and dates of stone slabs.

**Rating:** M

**Warning(s)/Kink(s): **Triggery things related to the Westfield school shooting, violence, sexual situations, angst

**Disclaimer: **I don't own American Horror Story.

**A/N:** The idea for this has been floating around on my computer since the middle of season one but I only really sat down to work at it with serious intent today. The idea is to do a series of snippets on the 10 other kids that Tate killed. There will be at least two more chapters. The italicized bits are sort of like candid conversations going on between the character mentioned and a person with a video camera (think graduation video/year book project/time capsule video). All the names are the names on the plaque seen in the Westfield School Library.

* * *

Mark Finstein

He didn't see it, but he felt it. He remembers the kids around him scattering like the buckshot that took half of his chest with it. After he came back around to it all metaphysically and mentally and saw the lump of meat that had been one half of a perfect pectoral set half-hanging on the bottom of a locker grate. He figured he got lucky enough to be deformed, not dead. Suffice it to say he wasn't exactly chipper over finding out he was both, for awhile at least until he worked out the kinks and reformed himself to his formal glory.

It was the missing coronal arch (and the perpetual blood spray coming from the torn half of his upper torso) that tipped him off to his new state of being.

"_Marky Mark!"_

"_Fuck off!"_

"_Come one don't be like that. Do the move."_

"_No."_

"_Do it."_

"_Give me a cigarette."_

"_Really?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_**Step by step…"**_

"_Oh my god he's really fucking doing it!"_

"_Stop saying fucking, we're going to have to edit all this out."_

"_Oh yeah, right. Sorry."_

* * *

Danielle Levesque

On the days she wants to feel sad and lonely and wax weepy nostalgic she visits the classroom where her dad taught eleventh grade English and sits at the desk like she used to at the end of day when he packed up his ungraded papers and she swept the floor with sneakered toes to semi-circle the chair back and forth. He cried. She remembers that. Right there in front of the cops that closed the scene and kids he taught and staff members he worked with and the EMTs that zipped her up in a bag. Sobbing. And then later at the memorial with her little sister and her mother who he hated and divorced all that was there was stony stoicism which was always his MO. But he cried like men cry when they really love something, and it's good she thinks that he cried and then didn't because there's her sister and her dad always was a weight of the world kind of guy. Unbreakable. But that hurts. Because she's dead and they moved on as well as they could, more than they should, and live like she's not a ghost waiting, or maybe really just hoping they'll come around again for a memorial service they hold every few years. 'The world keeps spinning' she thinks wryly, making the chair do a full circuit with a hard push of her foot off the floor for mental emphasis.

Her knee gushes and she wishes she had a tampon or something to staunch the leak.

"_So you think you guys are gonna win at States?"_

"_No doubt."_

"_Heard you got a sport's scholarship."_

"_Yeah. Crazy right?"_

"_What's your dad think?"_

"_Thinks it great he doesn't have to pay for school."_

"_Good luck."_

"_Yeah, thanks."_

* * *

Luke Maxcy

He ran until his asthma grabbed at his lungs like play-doh and he's dead no matter what because no one's going to help and his inhaler is in his bag under the table in the cafeteria they use for morning study hall.

Fucking kid didn't even shoot him, just watched him smother and wheeze and piss himself, gasping like a fish flopping on the carpet. Suffocation is excruciating, he wishes the kid had shot him.

"_So what college are you going to?"_

"_I'm not. Going to hook my way to Las Vegas and get famous."_

"_Dude, come on. This is going to play during graduation."_

"_Okay, let's do it again."_

"_Okay. Ready?"_

"_Yeah, no. Wait. Hold on."_

"_Luke! Put your fucking balls back in your pants!"_

"_Gimme the camera."_

"_That's fucking disgusting, no! Get your fucking nasty balls off the camera. Fuck, man!"_

"_Seniors, Ninety-Four! Bay-Bay!"_

* * *

Michael Rivera

His mother had told him not to speed that morning. He was late and had to make up a chemistry final he missed because she'd needed a ride to chemo that day. She had told him a final wasn't something to get in an accident over. He did sixty all the way to school and made the bell anyway.

The shot that missed him got his locker door.

The one that almost missed him took off enough of his neck to count.

He had a thing about telling his mother he loved her before he left every day for school because he was sure one day would be the last time. He didn't figure it would be like this. In any case he's glad he did.

"_Any talents?"_

"_Yeah, I guess."_

"_Wanna show it off?"_

"_Yeah, hold my jacket. Back up."_

"_Hey! Watch it. Almost kicked me in the face back-flip boy."_

_"You must_ s_tick the landing!"_

"_That accent is awful."_

"_You sound like Sean Connery."_

* * *

Jennifer Wright

There's the image of her best friend trying to claw her way across the sports field stuck behind her eyes. The last thing she saw before the bullet blew open the back of her head were the stupid fucking nets they'd been dragging out of the equipment room for morning practice.

No. That's not right. She can see the smoldering orange lace of the cigarette they'd been puff puff passing while goofing off and acting like assholes, a black boot smears it out on the grass before pressing down on the backs of her shoulders so whoever it is can rest the barrel of the shotgun against the back of her skull and blow it out through the front of her face.

"_So how's the tooth?"_

"_I've still got most of it."_

"_That last game was pretty brutal."_

"_We play hard."_

"_We're all rooting for you guys."_

"_Thanks! Varsity! Whoop-woo!"_

"_Go Westfield!"_

"_We've got the best team ever."_

"_They're pretty loud."_

"_Yeah, sorry. Is that all you need for the video?"_

"_Yeah. I think that's it. Thanks guys!"_

"_You're welcome!"_

"_How's my hair look."_

"_Awful."_

"_Ah! You bitch."_

"_Yeah, see? Best team ever right here, right girls?"_

"_Whoop-woo!"_

* * *

**A/N:** So yeah. Mind you this is not the fic I said I was working on to a few of you recently. Nope this was a spur of the moment sort of thing that happened while I was pondering that other fic I'm writing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author:** grayglube

**Title:** The Westfield 15

**Summary:** They're more than names on a plaque, faces in a yearbook, and dates on stone slabs

**Rating:** M

**Warning(s)/Kinks:** Triggery stuff related to the school shooting, language, violence, sexual situations

**Spoilers:** None

**Disclaimer:** I don't own American Horror Story.

**A/N:** Second set.

* * *

Kelsey Jackson

His older brother comes to candlelight vigil in uniform, rolling along, minus the legs he lost in Desert Storm. His mom wrings his basketball jersey with white knuckles. His dad looks lost and small on the outside risers, drowning in the crowd.

It's a beautiful night and the football field is lit up with tiny flames melting into little plastic ice cream cone holders.

He cradles his almost gone arm and bleeds all over the grass, he barely feels it but he thinks his fingers twitch. He wonders if this is the phantom limb stuff his brother has talked about when they find him on the floor sometimes when he tries to get out of bed like he still has the limbs to do it.

"_What are your plans after graduation?"_

"_I think I'm just going to take some time and be with my family."_

"_Cool, cool. Sooo vacation then?"_

"_Yeah, probably."_

* * *

Jason Mueller

There's a gnawing pain in his gut so white hot he wants to puke on himself.

He collapses at the top of the stairwell and regrets every fucking word he said on the phone the night before to his girl. He thinks that maybe this is what he gets for being such a fucking asshole. For making her cry.

He doesn't pass out; he dies squirming in the slip-slop of red and gore that is his insides falling out all over the freshly waxed linoleum. He doesn't go quietly, he screams and whines and groans like a dog he had once that ate a couple of thumbtacks off the floor of his mom's craft room when he was a little kid.

"_Okay, so how's it feel to be Class King?"_

"_Uh, alright. I guess. It's kind of more important to the girls ya know?"_

"_Well how does your girlfriend feel about it?"_

"_She likes the crown. And being on the float was pretty cool."_

"_Is that her?"_

"_Jennie!"_

"_I got practice!"_

"_Oh, no. Come on we're doing a video."_

"_Yeah. Hey you already got me on the video with the team."_

"_Attention whore."_

"_Yeah, yeah. Stuff it. Pretty boy."_

"_You guys are so cute."_

"_Dude, come on."_

"_Well thanks. That's sweet."_

"_Can we get a kiss?"_

"_Yeah, a real sloppy wet one."_

"_Bet you are."_

"_Edit that out!"_

_"What! 'Eat that out'?"_

_"Ewwww. **NO! **That is not what I said!"_

_"You sure? Because I'm cool with that babe."_

_"You are such a pervert! I don't know why I'm with you sometimes."_

_"Because I'm down with munching between meals?"_

_"Jason! I'm going, see ya later!"_

_"Dude."_

_"What? She totally wants it."_

_"Too much information."_

_"Yeah, yeah."_

* * *

Andrew Meyers

He woke up late.

Drove through the parking lot.

His windshield exploded.

He drove through the fence around the soccer field.

When he looked up there was the barrel, poking through the broken remnants of his passenger side window and he thinks that his dad is going to be really pissed about the car.

"_Are you ever on time?"_

"_Not if I can help it."_

"_How does one become such a successful slacker, Andy?"_

"_Uh…late nights and…dedication. Yeah."_

"_I like your serious politician face there."_

"_Been practicing in the mirror."_

* * *

Jay Cannavo

There's a looming deadline and too many tapes and he doesn't think he'll really be able to pull it off. He doesn't. How can he? In the end it's a bunch of shitty artsy hacks in the AV club that use all the hours of footage and make what was supposed to be an ode to the senior class a memoriam to all the kids that could give a fuck because they're dead.

He would know. He's dead and he could give a shit about the stupid fucking tapes.

It was just bad luck that he _had_ to go and leave all those extra clips in his car and bad luck that he happened to be the only kid around after one of other took a shot to the throat and sprayed blood all over him and then god, _fuck_, he'd stood around, he had blood on his face and teeth and that kid just looked up and blew him away.

The lockers were cold against his back and he slid to the floor and fell over as he got colder and colder right onto the other kid's body, like a fucking pile-up of corpses right there in the hallway.

"_Give it back."_

"_Nuh-uh. Come on you gotta do it. Everyone, this is Jay. Jay, this is everyone…annnnd the camera. Say 'howdy.'"_

"_Howdy."_

"_Enthusiasm please."_

"_Like your interview was enthusiastic, Dani."_

"_Hey I was preparing for a team meeting, gotta keep the lazy bitches motivated and save my strength. So once more with emphasis and enthusiasm."_

"_Howdy, y'all."_

"_Better. Any last words?"_

"_Ra ra, go Wolverines."_

"_Pfft, lame."_

* * *

Josh Sathre

Yeah, he knows. He knows he's a coward when it counts. It's hard not to be scared when there's a guy with a gun meandering around the locker stacks in the boys' locker room looking for things to make dead. He hid.

Not that it did any good.

He's surprised he got to the hiding part because he spent awhile stuck to the spot; fear is the reason, if he had to guess. Like those dreams where there's a car or something coming and you just can't get your feet to not be too heavy to move. Dying felt like falling does in dreams.

He almost didn't hide, almost stood there, almost closed his eyes and let it happen.

But he hid and his eyes were open with the shots got him.

"_Okay think you can make it?"_

"_Uh…yeah. Duh."_

"_I don't know Josh, he's pretty fast. Beat you last meet."_

"_Yeah yeah, we'll see."_

"_Yo!"_

"_Hey!"_

"_Langdon come on let's see you out-sprint me again."_

"_Where's he going?"_

"_That's cold. Think you just got the brush off."_

"_I can so outrun him."_

"_Oh-kay. Sure."_

"_We're going to do a vault, wanna film it?"_

"_Yeah, sure."_

* * *

**A/N:** There's going to be another part to this where everyone is post-death. The dead breakfast club should make an appearance and I think I'll be writing a fourth chapter where Violet goes to Westfield on Halloween.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author:** grayglube

**Title:** The Westfield 15

**Summary:** They're more than names on a plaque, faces in a yearbook, and dates on stone slabs

**Rating:** M

**Warning(s)/Kinks:** Triggery stuff related to the school shooting, language, violence, sexual situations

**Spoilers:** None

**Disclaimer:** I don't own American Horror Story.

**A/N:** Third Set. I'm using nicknames for this one. Jace is Jason, J.C. is Jay.

* * *

Dani and Mickey

It's after they're dead that they get together.

Most of the guys thought she was a dyke but contrary to popular and false belief she's been dying to find a guy to make her want to give it up. Mickey's still got his leather jacket and his long hair and she remembers the Firebird he used to cruise through the parking lot with and after six years of post-demise afterliving they end up in the theatre wardrobe on top of the costume supply for Guys and Dolls with his fingers prodding the soaked crotch of her utilitarian white panties like he knows exactly what he's doing (he does because she's coming soon after with her teeth leaving marks on that leather jacket that smells like Marlboros and Calvin Klein Obsession) and her thigh rubbing up against what she's almost positive is his dick and it doesn't matter because she writhes around enough that he spurts in his jeans like he's twelve and it's all sort of perfect and afterwards they have their first multisyllabic conversation where he admits he's wanted to be with her since the homecoming game she scored three goals and assisted two in and she tells him she was the one who accidentally dinged the driver side door of that Firebird that was his baby in senior year.

He tells her he already knew that and unbraids her hair while she's falling asleep and when she wakes up they've both gotten tangled up in a red sequined flapper outfit.

It's pretty simple. They really like each other and their eternal entrapment doesn't seem so sour when their together.

* * *

Jennie and Jace

It's kind of strange because she also used to fucking aggravate the shit out of him when she was alive. They were always pretty on again off again but he apologized and she stopped acting like such a bitch and things sort of worked after they got shot.

But only for awhile.

Now they're back to their usual relationship humbuggery.

She caught him in the girl's locker room.

He'd been fantasizing about lesbian orgies but expecting tits. There happened to be neither and the ensuing argument had **not **been worth curing his curiosity.

And as it turns out he's as good at making her cry as he was when they were alive.

* * *

Luke, Kelsey, Josh

Nobody notices the three dead boys on the edge of the court. Homecomings are the best. The way the floor shakes under a thousand stomping feet makes feeling alive easier. Kelsey kicks at a basketball that rolls out of reach of the team taking to the center of the gym for the bi-yearly showing off of the athletic line-up for the year. Luke tries to peek up the skirt of a girl sitting in the fifth row of the stands. Josh struggles to catch a glimpse of his little sister who's the JV pitcher in girls' softball this year.

They shout right along with the crowd.

Kelsey leaves when they start talking about the shooting and 'staying strong'.

Luke goes after him to sooth the anguish of the boy who's been his best friend since first grade when they grew lima beans in Petri dishes together.

Josh cries when his sister goes up and talks about how brave he was and how big of a spirit he had in life with her voice breaking every so often.

* * *

Marky Mark and J.C.

"I don't know why you bother."

It's not like bench pressing one-fifty is going to help him bulk up anymore.

"It kills time. I still feel it. It relieves my stress," Mark explains sagely.

"What stress have you got?" J.C. snorts.

"I saw Gedman again today."

Mark fumes. Gedman left him behind when he got shot. Like a 'fucking coward' Mark always tells him. J.C. can't help but be a bit sympathetic towards running away. He's pretty sure he would have done the same but he doesn't say that, instead he asks what he always does, "Beat him up again?"

"Naw, I'm sublimating my rage into this work out."

"Sublimating your rage?"

Secretly J.C. is proud of his sometimes friend for overcoming the urge to brutally pummel another person, ghost. Whatever.

"Yeah."

"Where'd you learn that?"

"They were showing a thing about stress management in health today."

"You went to class?"

Because Mark does that.

"What the fuck else is there to do?"

"Yeah," J.C. agrees and picks up a dumbbell to test out sublimation a little for himself.

* * *

Andy

He watches the sunset while nursing a clipped joint he found in a bag left out during gym on the bleachers around the track. It's fucking perfect. The sky burns red-orange-pink and it's like he can taste it, something flavored tangy citrus sugary.

The roof is warm under his bare feet from baking in the sun all day, and he snickers a little. Baking. He's baked. It's really fucking funny.

He laughs and chokes a little on the heavy smoke.

Life's good.

Oops.

Nope.

He's dead.

But that's funny too, he dissolves into chuckles.

He wishes there was more weed to smoke, he'd never really been able to smoke it up like this while he was alive. His dad always managed to sniff it out and beat the shit out of him for it.

The sunset dissolves and he kind of misses the old guy, just a little though because he was a bastard to begin with and he'll be damned if he lets his dad kill his buzz this time.

It's hysterical, really. He snorts and flicks away the roach while staring up at the blooming darkness and when they come out he drowns in the star-scape.

* * *

**A/N:** I don't know yet how I want to work the Violet goes to Westfield thing, so the fourth chapter probably won't be up for awhile.


End file.
